Motor City Magick

Detroit, the Motor City

From far above, one sees what remains of civilization dotting the land like a spray of diamonds on a wide, black silk. Amid those shining beads of light are those few corridors that are well-lit: the well-known streets of vice that cross one another a thousand times, the gilded government buildings darkened only by the soot of past ambitions, and a few key neighborhoods, as guarded and segregated physically as they are mentally. Everywhere else is bathed in the night: the neighborhoods fearful of the outside world, the streets so deadly that the police don’t bother to patrol them, and those urban wastelands, fonts of fallen ambition, where even the wind does not whisper, lest it disturb the sacred stillness.

In this place, the night is darkest under the streetlamp, and whole city blocks are home only to the homeless masses. St. Clair, once a pure, life-giving lake, is now pitch and turbulent; to look upon it’s surface, expecting one’s reflection, is to look into the eyes of a stranger. In the day, the city’s cancer is painted best by the angry sun: a concrete heart, the veins of which are teeming with the vacant-eyed masses, all moving on the strings of unseen masters that hunger for their blood, or spirit, or very lives. On every street corner, a ruined man or woman, a starving child, or a space where an innocent soul once stood for the last time. From the vacant-eyed to the world-weary, each is a victim of this grand metropolis of grit and steel and vapor dreams.

This is your home. This is Detroit.

And now, newly Awakened, you will see it, this microcosm of the universe, in all it’s terrible glory.

As you explore it, and uncover its hubs and secrets, they will be chronicled here as well as within their daily logs.